Invisible Monsters
by Jamie552
Summary: He was afraid of his brother knowing...finally knowing who the real monster of the family was. One-shot. Tag to "Lazarus Rising".


**Summary:** He was afraid of his brother knowing...finally knowing who the _real_ monster of the family was.

**Spoilers:** For Lazarus Rising (4x1)

**Author's Note:** Ok, so this is a missing scene from Lazarus Rising which I kinda wished I got to see; Dean and Bobby on the way to talk to Sam. Just before the reunion (where our boys finally share a **way** over-due hug, IMO). This little ficlet is dedicated to my close friend Viki, who doesn't watch Supernatural (*shares a collective gasp*) but is always willing to listen to me rant and rave like a crazy person when I get Winchester-esque writer's block. Thank you so much Viki!

**Disclaimer**: Nope, don't own anything. I _dreamt_ I owned them...does that count?

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Dean sat quietly; his body was in the passenger seat of Bobby's old Camero, but his mind was off somewhere else. Actually, his mind had been somewhere else for hours. He couldn't stop thinking, he couldn't stop remembering.

He was thinking about the trees, flashing past outside his window. He was thinking about the fresh air he'd taken in for the first hour of the long drive, before getting wickedly cold and forced to close the window. There were goosebumps on his arms underneath the borrowed leather jacket but he didn't do anything to get rid of them.

He was too busy remembering what it _felt_ like to feel cold.

In the few hours since he'd somehow managed to stumble through Bobby's front door, it seemed all he could do was remember. The smallest things brought him happiness; the feeling he had drinking a cold glass of water, the sunshine on his face, the familiar smell of the dusty books in Bobby's library. It had been forty years since he'd last had those feelings, and now that he was having them again, he was overwhelmed.

But it was a good feeling. Dean Winchester was being reintroduced to the world, one small piece at a time.

As crazy as it was, he'd forgotten that the world was colorful. For four decades he'd been surrounded by darkness, the only color was the shocking deep red of the blood that always seemed to be on his hands…under his fingernails…drying and caking in the heat, only to be moistened again when a new soul was set in front of him.

The only sounds he'd heard for so long were the shrill screams, the moans of pain that his own actions brought on, that his own actions were responsible for. But now, there were so many other sounds, sounds he'd forgotten about; the rumble of a hot engine, the sound of wind blowing through the leaves and the grass, the crunch of gravel or the creaking of old floorboards underneath his feet.

Each noise was a new experience.

With all of those new experiences, there was only _one_ that he craved. There was only one that he absolutely needed.

He needed to see the heartbreakingly familiar green of his little brother's eyes. The eyes that, the last time he'd seen them, had been full of tears and desperation; even though the memory of their happiness and their sparkle had been one of a few preciously kept and fiercely defended memories that had kept him going for forty years.

He needed to hear the calming sound of his little brother's voice; the voice that wavered when sad, vibrated when excited and shook when angry. The voice that had called him '_jerk'_ a thousand times, and the voice that had said his name - _Dean - _a million times. The voice that laughed easily and often, the only voice in the entire world that could sound like a child and a grown man at the same time.

He missed it, and silently, Dean willed Bobby to drive faster.

Dean was visibly exhausted, and when the older hunter softly suggested he try and get some sleep, all Dean could do was shake his head. "No, I can't. Not yet."

"Dean, you must be droppin'…I'll wake you in an hour."

"I _can't_ sleep. Not yet."

"Why not?"

Swallowing hard, Dean replied, "I gotta see Sam first."

"An hour or two won't kill ya-"

Dean could practically _feel_ the wince that flashed across Bobby's face before the words were even out of his mouth. They sent a small pang through Dean's chest but he pushed it aside, fighting the sudden bizarre desire to chuckle.

_And here's Bobby Singer, tough-as-nails hunter, walking on egg shells._

"Dean, I'm sorry-"

"Don't worry 'bout it, Bobby-" Dean said quietly, shooting him a quick glance. "It's ok."

After a small silence, Bobby spoke again in a forced-calm voice. "Seriously though, we're still a good couple hours away. Rest up."

Letting out a breath, Dean leaned back and rested his head against the old vinyl headrest. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

Bobby glanced over at him. "Yeah."

"In New Harmony…after I dropped off-" He felt Bobby wince again. "Sammy. How bad was it?"

It was a question he'd been burning to ask since the moment he'd asked Bobby about his little brother in the first place.

_He was quiet. Real quiet._

_Then he took off. Wouldn't return my calls._

_I tried to find him, but he don't wanna be found._

The year leading up to his bill coming due had been a year filled with desperation; endless research and investigation, never-ending questions about faith and mortality. Sam had been determined to find a solution even though Dean had known from the beginning that there was nothing to be done.

Dean had watched his brother die once. And when push came to shove, he would've done anything in the world to spare Sam that kind of pain.

But from somewhere deep in his subconscious, Sam's voice broke in.

_How'd you feel when Dad sold his soul for you?_

_Because I was there, I remember._

_You were twisted and broken._

_And now you go and do the same thing…_

…_To me._

Dean had _caused_ that pain, and he felt bile rise in his throat at his own reminder.

It was something he'd thought of a thousand times since being pulled out; how right Sam was when he'd called Dean a hypocrite…because he _was_ a hypocrite, and he knew it.

In truth, at the time, the consequences of Dean's desperation hadn't mattered. Hell. Torture. Demons. Eternal hellfire. _None_ of it had mattered.

The deal was nothing but a prolonged suicide, and the pain and ache that he would end up putting Sam through? As he stood at the crossroads, it had never even entered his mind. He'd never even thought about it. His grief had overshadowed everything else, including, according to Sam, his common sense.

_What you did was selfish._

_Yeah, it was selfish. But I'm ok with that. After everything I've done for this family, I think I'm entitled._

In retrospect, that maybe was one of the cruelest things Dean could've ever said to his kid brother.

Bobby remained silent and Dean turned to look at him in the darkness of the car, swallowing hard again. "Bobby."

The hesitation from the older hunter was painfully obvious and for a moment, Dean wondered if he'd even answer. But Bobby took a deep, rattling breath, and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. "It was bad. Real bad."

"Tell me."

"Are you sure you wanna know."

Bobby's words weren't really a question, his inflection was almost non-existent. The undercurrent of worry in his voice told Dean a lot and he curled his hands into tight fists in an effort to prepare himself for whatever Bobby was going to say. He let himself nod slowly. "I _gotta_ know."

Bobby sighed and then spoke in a quiet voice. "Right after midnight, most of the demons outside the house disappeared. I dunno where they went, but I didn't see 'em again. I managed to make my way inside, found Sam upstairs with you-" He paused and his grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pulled white; Dean felt himself tense. "He was…holdin' you down on the floor, blood everywhere…just…rockin' you back and forth.

"He was talkin' to you, but nothin' made sense. I tried to get closer to him but every time I moved he'd scream at me to get back, to leave you two alone. All he did was cry."

In a fit of embarrassment, Dean pulled his eyes from the older man and turned his gaze towards his window; his eyes were burning, tears were threatening to fall.

Sam was the only person left in his world worth crying over, and as always, Sam was the only one even remotely allowed to see it. But Sam wasn't there and Dean tried to keep the emotion from exploding out of his chest.

As Bobby continued, that proved impossible.

"It was a while before he let me anywhere near you…it took even longer to help him to his feet. Both of us, we managed to carry you down to the car, lie you down in the back." Bobby audibly swallowed. "I drove, Sam held you in the back seat.

"After we…took care of you…I gave Sam everything you asked me to; he sat quietly, lookin' through it for a while. Then he packed up and left. I haven't seen him since."

Dean's mind traveled back to the one month mark, the day that marked only four weeks left with Sam on the calendar. The brothers had gone to Bobby's for a few days, catching up on much needed rest. Sam hadn't wanted the break, still determined as ever to find the loophole in Dean's deal; Dean, on the other hand, had pulled rank and said that they _still_ had four weeks left and there was plenty of time for research madness _after_ they'd taken some time for themselves.

Dean had declared them off-duty for five days. Sam would only agree to two.

On the rare occasions where Sam would let himself fall asleep, whether while sitting at the table with the laptop—which was the usual—or on the bed, Dean always took that opportunity to study and observe. Despite the never-ending crap that Sam had been dealt over the years, in sleep, Dean's little brother looked as innocent and childlike as he had when he was six.

The way his crazy floppy bangs always moved to cover half of his face, the usual smoothness of his face—which for the past year, had been constantly strained and tense—gave him the air of a truly _little_ brother that needed protection and security. It had always warmed Dean's heart more then he cared to admit, seeing his brother looking that way. It also had it's comical moments, Sam's nose wiggling every once in a while as he moved or shifted, his eyes squinted tightly and his nose wiggling even more whenever he started to wake up.

Dean had simply watched him, filing away every single image he could.

As far as he was concerned, Hell could burn away his humanity. Hell could make him scream and cry out. Hell could make him wish he were really and truly dead. Hell could even drive him insane.

But the _one thing_ Hell could never do…was take away the memories of his little brother.

Those memories were stored deep in Dean's mind, in his dreams. And he protected them viciously.

So one night, while Sam had slept, Dean had stumbled across Bobby in the firelight of the library. As usual, Bobby was reading from one of his countless books on lore and legend, seeming to have become just as obsessed as Sam when it came to breaking the deal.

In a quiet but sure voice, Dean had passed him the dark brown folder; the folder thick with a year's worth of preparation and insurance. At Bobby's confused expression, Dean had explained as best he could.

Only a few days after the deal was made, Dean had gotten started. He'd told Sam that he wasn't afraid, that things were as they were, and there was no changing it. Hell could never have terrified Dean as much as the idea of leaving Sam behind alone and with nothing.

And so, Dean had done it in secret, hiding the papers and the accounts…hiding the extra money and the certificates. Throughout his final year, he'd taken every opportunity to add to his project; on the nights when he'd told Sam he was going out, his real goal was to find high-stakes poker or pool games, and most of the time he did well, pocketing thousands of dollars, which he only added to the growing envelope he kept stashed at the bottom of his bag, just waiting for the opportunity to make it to the right bank.

He'd added money to the savings account every chance he got, and when his final month had rolled around, the balance of the account was enough to keep Sam safe and secure, enough to help him get back on his feet and take care of himself after everything else was done.

The account was under the name of Sam McTavish. Dean had also included the fake ID needed to access the money.

There was the spare key to the Impala.

A few pictures of the family; their parents together, standing happily outside their house…the _entire_ family, their dad holding Dean and their mom holding Sam…a few random images of Dean and Sam when they were kids…and Dean's favorite, a picture taken on Sam's sixteenth birthday, the two of them leaning casually against the side of the Impala, Dean's arm draped lazily across his little brother's shoulders.

All of it was in the brown folder.

It was then that Dean had asked Bobby—the only other person in existence that he even came close to trusting with his little brother—to keep the folder hidden and safe until after the deal went through. Along with his request for the older hunter to take up the task of protecting Sam, it was also Bobby's responsibility to give Sam the folder and explain it.

Bobby had agreed without hesitation.

It had been a small blessing, but it had made Dean feel better. The guilt of leaving would never go away, but at least he could make sure his Sammy was taken care of as best he could.

"He never mentioned the money or anything, but there was somethin' in that boy's eyes when he left."

Dean nodded, thankful when the burning sensation behind his eyes started ebbing away. Still looking out the window, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Thanks for takin' care of that."

Without acknowledging the weak sounding thank you—which Dean was grateful for—Bobby said, "Just sorry I didn't look after him better."

"Don't be sorry. Sam's stubborn; he wanted to go off on his own, hell, I don't like it, but I probably woulda done the same thing."

Bobby nervously nodded. "I just hope he's ok."

"He's fine."

"How do you know?"

Still keeping his gaze locked out the window, Dean's eyes connected with the small illuminated sign on the side of the road.

_Welcome to Pontiac, Illinois_

He had spent forty years in a seemingly endless tunnel of fear and brutality. The only thing that had kept him going, the only image that had stayed fresh in his mind was the image of his little brother. And at that moment, after having waded through hellfire and deep rivers of blood, his saving grace was finally going to be his reality.

The agony and the twisted ecstacy. He could never tell Sam. Sam could never know.

He was afraid of his brother knowing...finally knowing who the _real_ monster of the family was.

Swallowing hard, he answered quietly.

"Because I can feel it."


End file.
